Looking Inside
by ponygirl72
Summary: 9th Doctor, Rose. Like his timeship, the Doctor has hidden depths...


**Looking Inside**

_The TARDIS is a lot like it's owner, it's got hidden depths_, thought Rose, as she followed the Doctor down yet another corridor on a whirlwind tour of the timeship. At intervals, he would throw open a door and tersely proclaim "Wardrobe" or "Library" or "Bathroom" leaving her with a muddled impression of acres of clothes, acres of books, and- surely not!- an Olympic sized swimming pool?

Eventually, he seemed to feel that he had covered the salient points, and somehow they had got turned around and were back where they had started, near the console room.

"Well, that's most of the important stuff. Choose whatever room suits you. I expect you'll be wanting a bit of kip- you humans could sleep your entire lives away if you didn't have to get up now and again to eat and procreate."

She just couldn't let that one pass without getting a dig in herself. "Oh, and I suppose Time Lords don't need sleep? Must be exhausting having to be charming and witty 'round the clock like that."

For a moment his expression was haunted, and she felt as if she had said the wrong thing. Again. But he covered quickly and shot her a quirky smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I may sleep sometimes, I just prefer not to waste a third of my life at it. I'll leave you to it then..." and he was off down the corridor and through one of the nondescript doors. She made a note of which one, then, shaking her head, she began to investigate the nearby rooms in more detail.

Before long she discovered an unused bedroom with a door off the side leading into a generous bath with a big claw foot tub, something that seemed almost but not quite like a shower, a nice double sink and a (thankfully) normal looking loo. A quick search of the bedroom's closets revealed a basic selection of clothes in roughly her size and from roughly her time period, if not exactly her preferred style. She tried to ignore the feeling that the clothing hadn't been there until she walked in. Maybe she'd poke around the "wardrobe" later, if she could find it again without getting lost.

For now though, all she wanted was a bath and sleep, in that order.

-----

The Doctor sank into the chair in front of his writing desk gratefully. The turmoil of the past few hours faded, leaving him with his altogether more troubling inner turmoil. Pulling his thick, leather-bound diary across the battered desk, he rummaged for a pen and began to write a summary of recent events, noting any information that might come in useful at a later date. Or an earlier one.

But even as he catalogued facts, another more rebellious part of his mind worried away at the emotional impact of the day. Nibbling at the delicate equilibrium that he maintained since the events of-

No.

He could just about keep the memories at bay when he was busy. Or under imminent threat of death. But the quiet times...

When Rose had tweaked him about not needing sleep, he had been unwillingly reminded of the last time he attempted to rest, eight months, one week, three days, and an odd number of hours ago. The nightmares had come almost immediately, and he had broken a bone in his hand, flailing out as he fought against the demons in his own mind. He hadn't tried to sleep since.

And then, today- why did other species insist on caring so much? He thought of Jabe, whose harmless flirting and seduction attempts had hidden a soul of uncommon compassion and bravery. He'd returned to the Observation Deck after the others had left, hoping to find her gift, the cutting from her grandfather, intending to take it someplace beautiful and plant it, but all he found was a small pile of ash and a blackened twig.

But Rose was still here- Rose, who had trembled with the emotion that he was unwilling to show, after he finally told her about Gallifrey, and the War. As he thought about the empathy in her eyes, the way she'd taken his arm and dragged him off for chips with extra salt and vinegar before coming back to the TARDIS with him, the coils of tension constricting his soul loosened minutely. He pictured her sleeping down the hall, in that oblivious way that humans have, all the worries and shocks of the day completely forgotten.

Looking down, he saw that his diary entry had trailed off.

_Perhaps I could just put my head down for a few minutes, he thought. Just to rest my eyes, mind you. Perhaps it will be alright..._

_----- _

It seemed to Rose that she had barely drifted off to sleep when she was awakened by... something. She sat up in the strange bed, momentarily disoriented, heart pounding as the events of the previous day flooded back to her mind. After several seconds of silence, a low moan broke the still atmosphere, the sound of something- no, someone- in terrible pain.

There was only one other person here.

Fumbling next to the bed, she grabbed her jeans and pulled them on under the oversized t-shirt she'd been sleeping in. Her heart was in her throat as she struggled into her shoes and crept out the door. Down the corridor, dim illumination escaped from the half-open entrance to the room into which the Doctor had disappeared earlier. As she approached cautiously, muffled words could be heard, punctuated by a broken shout of "No!" and a gasp that was almost a sob.

Peeking around the edge of the door, she got a brief impression of a messy office or study with a sofa, bookshelves, and a couple of small tables piled high with books and papers, before her attention was caught by the tall figure of the Doctor, asleep at his desk, apparently in the grips of the end-all-be-all of nightmares. She started towards him instinctively, then froze awkwardly two steps inside the room, unsure what to do.

The hand that wasn't trapped under his head moved fitfully, grasping at a large book in front of him. His shoulders tensed, head moving back and forth as if in denial as he mumbled softly. Suddenly, the muffled words resolved themselves into clearer speech.

"No! Romana, don't do it-- please-- no-oo! I can't-- I couldn't-- couldn't save you... couldn't save any of you... I tried... I TRIED! Why couldn't I save you? Why..."

Unwilling to listen anymore, Rose crossed to the anguished figure and spoke quietly.

"Doctor, wake up... c'mon, now, you're dreaming... wake up, then..." She grasped his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake, only to jerk backwards with a surprised squeak as he lunged upright in his chair, breathing heavily and with no apparent understanding of where he was. After an endless moment, his eyes settled on her face and the wild look was replaced with recognition and rationality as he schooled his features into a mask of indifference.

The tear tracks were clearly visible on his cheeks.

Because she felt like someone should say something, she said, "You were having a bad dream. About the War?"

Something that might have been acknowledgment flashed behind his eyes.

Her level of awkwardness increased as the silence stretched out.

"Look, I... I'm sorry to intrude... it's just that, well, when I was a kid I used to have these dreams and..." his eyes were still on her, not encouraging her to speak but not exactly discouraging her either. "My Dad died when I was nine. Just keeled over at work one day from a brain aneurysm. For years afterwards I had this recurring nightmare... everyone I knew just dropped dead. Mum, teachers, friends... everyone. I was all alone and didn't know what to do. I'd wake up screaming and crying in my room. That was the worst part. Waking up alone and not knowing if it was just a dream or if they were really dead. If I was the only one left."

The Time Lord's eyes closed tightly and he bowed his head, hiding his face. She slid her hand along the desk until her fingers just brushed his, and then his hand enveloped hers, holding it tightly as she continued, and she knew she'd been right to tell him.

"Before long my Mum would here me crying and come in to see what was wrong. And I'd know that it was okay. My Dad was gone and that was terrible, but there were other people who loved me and would look after me."

Giving his hand a final squeeze, she slipped free and crossed to the threadbare sofa, curling up in one corner.

"Tell me about your world," she said to his back. "Tell me what it was like before the War. I really want to know."

-----

Without having made a conscious decision to do so, the Doctor found himself telling her. He told her about the orange sky, and the silver grass, and the soaring mountains and the sparkling cities and the way the meteor showers lit the night like day. He told her about the people and how stuffy and boring they were until you got to know them and then some of them were really wonderful. He told her everything...

Some undetermined amount of time later, he turned to look at her, only to discover that she was passed out, dead to the world and drooling on his sofa's armrest. Huffing out a silent breath of laughter at himself, he rose and stretched.

"Not boring you at all, am I?" he asked the oblivious girl, pitching his voice low enough not to wake her. For once, she didn't have a cheeky reply.

Crossing the room, he eased off his leather jacket and draped it gently over his sleeping companion before returning to his desk, and his journal entry.

Fifteen minutes later he was asleep as well, dreamlessly this time, his mind unwinding gently in the quiet darkness as the TARDIS hummed contentedly around them.

FIN


End file.
